


Time, Inverted

by giidas



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Feelings, M/M, POV Second Person, Time Travel, because how else does one wrie this when we DO NOT KNOW HIS NAME lmao, no beta we die like men, spoilers for the movie, this is all just feelings tbh, timey wimey nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giidas/pseuds/giidas
Summary: What happened, happened. What will happen, will happen.But time and tenses get a little fucked up when you can Invert.And you've never gone down without a fight.
Relationships: the Protagonist/Neil
Comments: 54
Kudos: 352





	Time, Inverted

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so-- i just saw Tenet and have many a feeling, mostly about the Protagonist and Neil. this happened as a result.  
> vague spoilers for the movie i guess?

You see the trinket — it’s the red string that catches your eye, it always is — and you fight your lungs, fight all your body’s reactions so that he doesn’t see. You smile at the vendor, drop some bills into his palm and turn around. Neil’s eyes are already on you when you face him.

“Hey, we ready?” His eyes drop to the string and he watches the pendant swing from it for just a second before he looks back at you.

“Yeah,” you say as you pocket it.

Maybe if you don’t give it to him—

…

You’ve Inverted so many times you’re starting to lose track. You know you’re going somewhere, have gone somewhere? Or should it be some _time._ You wonder which actions have meaning, which of them will change something, something that will force you to invert again just to fix that little mistake.

You wonder why you haven’t Inverted to The Moment yet, or if you ever will. 

If you ever have.

What happened, happened. But what if it won’t?

  
  


…

  
  


They tell you you’re the mastermind, that you’re the one who’s in charge, will be in charge, was in charge, like you haven’t been thrown into it blind, like you don’t feel like you’re gonna drown in it all. But you grit your teeth and you fill the shoes that your pastfuture self leftleaves for you.

Neil, though, the way _he_ looks at you— it makes you close your eyes for a little too long, makes you take a deep breath. 

He nudges you with an elbow and you wonder if he got a degree in physics because he loved the subject or because you meetmet him when he waswill be that young. You order him a vodka tonic and for the first time, he looks surprised, eyebrow raised, mouth upturned. He accepts the drink, sips cautiously, and then downs the whole glass.

You grit your teeth and wonder how close you are to the endbeginning.

…

You spend a lot of time thinking about Posterity, about the Scientist who will come up with Inversion and why she doesn’t go back and doesn’t— but then you remember the moment in the shipping container, the grandfather paradox. What you’ve seen— what you will see? What you’ve seen tells you paradoxes are for those who can’t just jump into a machine and then go back in time, as far as they want (as far as they dare) just to fight their past self in a hallway, in reverse, getting wounded before a fight even starts.

Thinking about it gives you a headache, just as it did back then, as you watched Neil burrow back into the stretcher to try and get some much needed sleep.

…

You see it now, when you look at him. His eyes, too knowing, his smiles too gentle sometimes. And you think backforward to the moment where he said he’d much prefer it if _you_ decided if he lives or dies.

You can’t unwind the thread of time far enough to figure out if he knew, even then, even so far back— you can’t decide: is it inconsequential or is it the most important thing, the thing that matters and will matter and mattered most?

He looks at you and it’s too much, your heart beats a staccato against your ribcage and you don’t think you can fight it anymore.

You lean in and his smile is all you can taste.

…

He’s curled on his side, his back to you, and your eyes are glued to the ceiling. He didn’t say _finally,_ but he kissed you like an old lover, he touched you like he knewknows your body better than you do. His kisses made your head spin and the way his fingers dug into your hips— he didn’t say _please,_ but some of his gasps sounded more like sobs. You tried your best to gentle him, slow his movements down, tried to—

It didn’t connect, somehow, it didn’t make sense until after, when he kissed you like it was the last time, deep and slow and wet, with fingers digging into the nape of your neck, but when it did your eyes shot open and his did too.

“Neil—”

“Hey now,” he jumped in, shutting you up with one more smacking kiss, “let’s sleep, yeah?” And he rolled off, and turned his back to you.

For him, it wasn’t _finally._

…

You thought you’d stop thinking of time as an infinite resource but it hasn’t happened yet, might never happen. Maybe it’s because Neil is by your side, the trinket hanging from his backpack like a beacon, like an omen.

And you weren’t supposed to look for him, but then again, if you didn’t, how would you have recruited him? How _will_ you recruit him?

The loops keep closing in on themselves and you wonder how much time is left, how many loops until he— 

…

Each generation fights for their own survival, you said, and you meantmean it, still, even knowing what you know. You wonder if Tenet gives you a fighting chance, or if it gives _them_ one, you wonder if it matters in the end, and if the whole thing isn’t a paradox in and of itself.

If the oceans don’t rise and the rivers don’t run dry, will she ever think of Inversion in the first place?

And back to the grandfather paradox you go.

What happened, happened. But what will happen, will happen.

Sometimes, you think, the windmills at sea seem like a too on the nose metaphor.

But maybe that’s why you sent yourself there. Will send yourself there.

…

Neil looks at you through his lashes and when you raise an eyebrow, his attempts at flirting are gone and an almost blinding smile splits his face.

“What,” you can’t help but ask.

“You have a hickey,” he finally says, and presses his fingers into a bruise on your collarbone.

You can’t remember what you wanted to say, can’t remember what your plans for the afternoon were, should be. You take his hand and raise it to your mouth, kiss his palm.

“Well, we better make sure it—” but you can’t finish the thought because his teeth are sinking into your flesh and your head falls back.

…

His hair is falling into his eyes and you lean forward, swiping it to the side. You wonder why he wears it that way and the question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

“No reason,” he says, but he doesn’t make eye contact and his smile is strained.

You don’t pry, even though you think you could have gotten away with it, that he might have told you.

You watch him instead, as if you don’t have his features memorized already and you wonder how you got here, will get here.

…

When you see him at the start of the next loop, his hair is cropped so short you can’t even get a grip on it.

He stays with you long enough for it to grow out, for it to start falling into his eyes.

You run your fingers through it, his head pillowed on your chest, neck in an uncomfortable angle, as he’s typing something on his phone.

“I like it like this,” you say, and then you draw a harsh breath and close your eyes, the fingers of your free hand digging into your palm, nails pressing into flesh.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous, and when you don’t protest, adds, “well, then.”

…

What happened, happened. What will happen, will happen.

You snort, and think: bullshit. _Bull_ shit.

You sent her to live the rest of her life somewhere, some _time,_ with her kid.

You’re not gonna give up on Neil just because of something that might have happened. So many things might have happened and you made it so they didn’t.

Why should this be any different?

...

You’re the master of your own destruction, you think bitterly. You watch him, see no recognition in his eyes when you make eye contact.

There’s no recognition but there’s a spark of _something._

You raise an eyebrow and he waves at his friend, tells them something you can’t hear, never letting his eyes leave yours. He starts walking towards you, leaving the friend behind.

You get up from your little corner table, and when he’s close enough, you extend a hand.

“Hey, I’m—”

“Neil,” he says, not letting you finish, clasping your hand with both of his.

…

What happened, happened. What will happen, will happen.

You smile, and you taste blood.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and feel free to look me up on twitter or tumblr to scream about this mess of a movie and these two


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